You do not know me, and I do not know you. I’m sorry for intruding on you like this, perfect stranger, but I’d just like you to look at this paper for a while. It isn’t much from afar – the blue pen scribbles look like bits of rain falling indiscriminately in sheets – and it might be even less if read up close. I cannot gauge your distance from the letter, nor your ocular acuity, but what I can do is promise that I won’t get you wet despite the text’s appearance. And if I do because I’m known to spit when I talk, not to mention when I write, please feel free to use this page to dry yourself off.
I’m bugging you here for no other reason than I can, perfect stranger. I suppose that such honesty can be expected from someone you don’t know. I guess, then, I should be even more honest and tell you I peed my pants in grade five. All this talk of water has got me thinking.
About? Well, what the weather is like wherever you are. Here, the sky has been dried to a crisp cake of clouds and the sun squeaks through the crowd without an excuse or pardon. It might not need one. If you’re the biggest thing in our solar system, I’m inclined to believe that you have some gravity in the scheme of things, moving through busy white fluffs not excepted.
I’m not very big by comparison. It would be erroneous to say I’m even small comparatively. Still, though, I got some pretty inflated ideas, perfect stranger. One of them is that you’ll get this far in the letter. The other is that you won’t.
It might not make much sense, but that’s alright. Though it’s only been a while that we’ve known each other, I want share with you that fact, one which has help me to calm down, take control of a situation, and ensure that I didn’t also poop my pants in grade five – it’s alright. Not because it will be. Not because it can be. But because it is. Whatever it is. It is alright, perfect stranger. If not for you, then me. If not for me, then you. If not either of us, then someone. Perhaps the person beside you even.
If there is such a person, know they are as perfect as you are, perfect stranger. Then start how I did here. Tell them hi there, wherever that is and wherever it isn’t. They might say hi back. That’d be more than alright. That’d be nice.
I hope this has been too. And if not, just stand back and look at the rainy text, knowing one day that the sun will come for you and I alike.